Saved
by stolenkisses87
Summary: Shannon doesn't turn to him for hope. JackShannon, PG13, sort of a companion piece to my other JackShannon fic, Drowning. You can understand this without that though.


Fic: Saved

Pairing: Jack/Shannon

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Not mine

Warnings: Angsty, AU

They depend on him for hope.

They'd elected him to be their shining pillar of strength and stability without a second thought as to whether he was right for the job, willingly turn a blind eye to the foolishness of begging for hope from a hopeless man.

Even Kate, despite all of her attempts to seal herself off from needing anyone or anything, relies on him for the answer. Beseeches him with trembling hands and a haunted gaze, begs him with a broken smile to protect her from the fear and uncertainty he sees reflecting in her eyes.

Shannon doesn't turn to him for hope.

Doesn't look to him for guidance or strength, doesn't care about the fact that he has neither left to give.

Shannon stopped looking for answers the day her brother died, can't bring herself to care about the future while she's choking on regrets from the past. She doesn't want to be saved; would laugh her sharp, broken laugh at the very suggestion, and for once in his life Jack doesn't have to play the martyr.

She's more than willing to give anything he's willing to take and no matter how hard he tries he can't force himself to regret this. The line between right and wrong faded to grey the moment their plane broke into pieces across the sky and he can't help but feel pathetically grateful for the chance she gives him to be selfish.

She tastes like freedom and coconut, reminds him of a life that doesn't revolve around sand and despair. He knows he should spare her of this, pull back before he brings her along for the crash he can feel himself hurtling towards at an alarming rate, but he just can't seem to walk away.

Besides, if he mentioned it to her he knows she'd laugh and tell him she hit rock bottom a long time ago.

When it comes down to it, he'll be grateful for the company.

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He doesn't want to love her.

He's played this game too many times before to not be familiar with the way it will end; isn't prepared to watch one more person walk away from him.

It amazes him every time she lets him touch her and the startling contrast of his rough, callused hands against the smooth expanse of her skin never fails to confuse him. He can't figure out what she's doing here and he thinks that maybe if he could just solve that riddle, figure out how to put all of her broken pieces back together, maybe he could convince her to stay.

He has no delusions about them saving each other, no misguided hope for a happily ever after. But he can breathe a little easier when she's laying in his arms, feels a little lighter when she looks at him and he knows she understands.

They're trying to get by the best they know how and he just wishes there was some way to make this a little easier on her; some way to remove the dull, empty look from her eyes. She's never asked him to save her, stopped believing she was worth being saved long before Boone died and added his memory to the list of regrets and abuses that have brought her to this point.

She doesn't want to be saved, is perfectly content with the bare minimum he's willing to provide her, and it's the lack of need he sees in her eyes that finally forces him to try.

He doesn't want to love her, but that's never been enough to stop him from falling anyway.

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Sometimes, when she wakes up to find him idly playing with a piece of her hair, admiring the way the early morning light causes it to shine golden and bright, he thinks she might be able to let herself love him. Sees something tender and unspoken in her gaze and tastes something new in her kiss.

The minute they're forced to leave the relative safety of his tent he knows any and all remnants of the girl he's starting to suspect isn't completely gone will be lost, beaten back by the never-ending weariness that accompanies life on this god forsaken island. But when she looks at him in that early morning light and smiles her particular little half smile he's able to let himself believe that it's love he sees in her eyes.

Things aren't getting any better and he doesn't know where any of them are going to go from here, but he does know that that smile never fails to lessen the pressure that's constantly building at the base of his neck.

He doesn't have any answers but she doesn't need them, never attacks him with a torrent of questions she knows he doesn't have a solution for. She's content with his touch and his kiss, his body and his mind, and he can't remember the last time just being Jack was ever enough.

He knows she doesn't want to love him, and he wishes he could keep himself from hoping that maybe she does anyway.

Either way, this may be the end but at least they aren't alone.

For now that will have to be enough.


End file.
